Blake POV
Her scent was still on me when I let her finish her shower alone.
The water hadn’t washed it away—the sweet, wild tang of her arousal, the musk of our joining, the scent of my claim on her skin. It coiled in my lungs, a permanent fuel for the fire in my veins. My dragon paced beneath my skin, heavy, sated for a breath, but already restless again. The rut was a low, steady burn in my gut, a constant pulse in my blood.
More.
I stood just outside the bathroom door again, leaning against the cool stone of the hallway, listening. The water had shut off. I could hear the soft rustle of a towel, the faint, contented hum of her wolf through our bond. Satisfaction. Curiosity. A lingering, delicious ache.
She was thinking of me again. I could feel the echo of it—the memory of my hands
